The Obscurer

Month: January, 2007

The Obscurer Awards 2007

Well, here we are in the third year for the awards they said, and hoped, would never last. But who are “they”? What is it with those shadowy “they” people that “they” feel “they” have the authority to foist “their” opinions upon “others”? If you ask “me”, “they” have a lot to answer for. But did “you” ask “me”? Who are “you” anyway? And who am “I” in the first place?

Oh let’s just get on with it.

  • Single – Muse/Supermassive Black Hole. My wife and I engage in an amusing dance (amusing for whom I wonder?) each time we get in the car. When it is my turn I find the stereo set to Radio 1 and change it over to Radio 5; when my wife gets in the car she changes it back to Radio 1. When we are both in the car Radio 5 usually wins, because I drive more often and am far less tolerant of others’ choices than is my wife. Occasionally, however, Radio 1 wins out, usually when I am too tired to care, or when my intolerance of Radio 1 is trumped by my intolerance of a specific Radio 5 presenter (let’s call him Nicky Campbell for the sake of argument). In the middle of last year, on those odd occasions when Radio 1 did survive past a few seconds I would usually hear Muse’s Supermassive Black Hole, and as such it was almost the permanent soundtrack to my Radio 1 listening. And it is a great song. I have always liked Muse, been impressed by the way each track manages to eek out some variety from the basic formula of fiddly guitar riffs and falsetto singing. This song though is a bit different; less serious than the norm, more playful, even slightly sensual, the lyrics on a more simple human level than the usual hogwash they churn out, with a low down and grinding guitar line. Always more a band to be admired than take to your heart, this song suggested a change was in the offing. In fact, the subsequent album proved largely to be business as usual. Can you really love a band with tracks entitled “Map Of The Problematique”, “Exo-Politics” and “Knights Of Cydonia”? I can’t. But I still like this song.
  • Album – Arctic Monkeys/Whatever People Say I am, That’s What I’m Not. This was going to be a tricky category. Razorlight’s eponymous album was listenable, Divine Comedy’s below-par, Thom Yorke’s was great at first but interest soon paled (definitely one you need to be in the mood for) and Badly Drawn Boy’s was a slow grower, but I’m still not wholly sold on it. Then I just thought I’d check when the Arctic Monkeys’ album was released, and when I saw the CD said © 2006 I realised we had a winner. The true test I think is that I am still whacking the CD onto my stereo or selecting the appropriate file on my MP3 player now, a year after it was released. I came late to the Monkeys; I don’t keep my finger on the musical pulse, as you can tell, and it was my Radio 1 listening wife who insisted I check them out because she was sure they were my kind of thing. She was right, again. I loved the singles, but wasn’t quite prepared for the whole album, wondering if it would all be much of a noisy, samey muchness. In the event there is a surprising subtlety and difference in the arrangements for what is to all intents a basic 4-piece band, but as I often find is the case it’s the lyrics that turn an artist from being great into fucking awesome. The subject matter of the songs on the album vary, but many are wistful and poetic paeans to late-teens nightlife, of sticky carpets and kebab splattered street, but containing a knowledgeable and knowing ambivalence. The lyrics at times may be reminiscent of Morrissey, but are unmistakably in Alex Turner’s own voice; and one it will be fascinating to see develop over time.
  • Book – Jung Chang & Jon Halliday/Mao: The Untold Story. God I’m rubbish at reading these days, as anyone who keeps tabs on the “Reading” section on my sidebar can testify; I think I only read a handful of books last year, and they were mainly clustered around my holidays. So what book should I pick as my choice of the year? Well, obviously, the one that sounds most impressive, and which of course seems to reflect on my huge intellect. Mao is just such a book (even if I haven’t quite finished it yet). But it is good; in fact it is a great read, and that surprised me. So much has been written of Hitler and Stalin, but I knew very little of Mao. He seemed a far more elusive figure of which I knew only minor details; he had a seemingly benign smile, published a red book, and was the sponsor of death on an historic scale. Vague. I did know enough to be astonished that there are still rebels about the globe who term themselves Maoist in this day and age, and I wanted to know more. Mao has certainly filled in the gaps and is relentless in covering its subject. What surprised me, though is how it is such a rattling good read; the writing style is fluid and engaging and drag you in like a novel. It is pretty much a straight chronology of Mao’s life, but in travelling through history it uses one of my favourite techniques (as often used by novelist Paul Auster) in continually referring back to the future and showing how things would in fact turn out. The book is not without its faults however. It is unremittingly one sided, it makes no attempt to portray Mao as anything but a monster pretty much from birth, and it seems that when presented with a choice of showing Mao in a bad light, or portraying him as pure evil, it always takes the latter path. However, if you accept that it is a purely subjective account, albeit one with stacks of research to back it up, then you won’t go far wrong.
  • Film – Ice Age 2. Last year I said I doubted I would get the chance to go the cinema again, and so this category was in effect defunct. Well, in fact, I saw two! Ice Age and Cars! Cars was fine (I am a huge fan of all Pixar’s work) but for me Ice Age had the edge, if for no other reason than because of the great short sketches featuring the squirrel-creature-thing chasing an acorn over the ice. I can’t really say much more than that. Sorry.
  • Sport – Manchester City v Porto. I have vowed several times never to go to any more pre-season friendlies. The last time I promised myself was after the inaugural Thomas Cook trophy match against Barcelona, also the first game played at the City Of Manchester Stadium. So I was never going to go to this year’s instalment of the “trophy”; until my parents said they were going and wanted to take my son. So how could I not go to his first City match? And I was a proud as punch when the teams ran out and my son, decked in his away kit chanted “City City City” with no clear idea of what he was doing. He actually seemed quite interested for the first 20 minutes before his attention started to drift, a good 10 minutes after I had already seen enough, along with many others in the crowd. The match was every bit as poor as expected, but still; a momentous day for me, and a lifetime of pain ahead for him.
  • TV – Jonathan Ross. I could say that something like the wonderful Planet Earth was this years highlight, but for me David Cameron’s appearance on Jonathan Ross show sticks in the memory; not so much for the interview itself (where Cameron came across quite well I thought; still buggered if I’ll vote for him mind) as for the aftermath. I watched the interview, was vaguely amused, and thought nothing more of it. Then, on Sunday morning I watched the paper review on Andrew Marr and discovered not for the first or last time that the press had lost their heads completely and were seemingly appalled by Ross’s crude line of questioning regarding Cameron’s, er, youthful feelings for Margaret Thatcher. Now it is certainly not a pretty image, but I don’t think that is what was being objected to. That the matter was still being discussed a week later on Question Time and This Week is something I found more surprising than perhaps I should. Still, seeing out-of-touch morons getting their knickers in a twist proved once more to be a rich source of amusement, and so scoops the award.
  • Radio – Simon Mayo. I used to hate Simon Mayo. No, hate is too strong a word; I just ignored his Radio 1 show, and turned over whenever he popped up on Saturday evening TV on one of his various unsuccessful attempts at light entertainment. Particularly painful, I remember, were his appearances on Top Of The Pops when he would introduce each artist with a painfully jokey remark; but then I stopped watching TOTP. When he moved to Radio 5 my heart sank, especially when I actually listened to his show and heard dreadful features like a Celebrity Quiz slot (I remember listening to one featuring Hale or Pace of “Hale and Pace”) and asking each guest what they would do if they were King for a day (Jeremy Clarkeson, for example; you can imagine how fun that was to listen to). But gradually he dropped that nonsense and against all odds got down to being a fine presenter and interviewer and quite an engaging character. His chats with film critic Mark Kermode each Friday are a weekly highlight. On The Culture Show Kermode is revered as some sort of movie guru; on Simon Mayo’s show the pairs’ mocking banter reveals Kermode more as an unwitting object of ridicule, as befits anyone who honestly thinks The Exorcist is the best film of all time . I don’t mean to be cruel to Kermode, he is likeable and highly entertaining, but I would never take his opinion on any film seriously. Kermode’s appearances, along with the weekly sports, books and tv panels and Mayo’s intelligent and informed style of interviewing, make his show my favourite on the radio; on my days off I usually try and time it so I am washing the pots when his show is on, and there can surely be no higher praise.
  • Blog – Stumbling & Mumbling. Consistently the blog I look forward to reading most when I check Bloglines (after yours, of course) is Chris Dillow’s Stumbling And Mumbling. Chris usually writes about 2-3 beautifully concise posts a day, a good average somewhere between the crazily prolific Tim Worstall with his 15 daily posts and that idle git The Obscurer who manages sometimes 2 a month if he can be arsed. Chris specialises in writing about economics from a left-wing, pro-free markets perspective; put another way he generally writes common sense reflecting on a recent piece of research, often raising matters no one else bothers with. Sometimes he floats questions as if thinking aloud, unsure himself what the answer is; at other times he is dogmatic, sure of himself and most of all right, as in his numerous attacks on the creed of managerialism; occasionally I don’t have a clue what he is talking about, as in his posts on the stock market; and from time to time the posts seem a valid excuse for a photo of a pretty lady, which is fair enough. Most of all he is informative and entertaining, and who can resist a blog with a post entitled “Monty Panesar And Market Failure” and where not only does the post itself justify the title, but actually makes an interesting point?

Obscure Advice #1

Today’s top tip comes from a bag of Jelly Babies.

Next Week: some Dolly Mixtures caution against common household dust-mites.

From The Bench At Belvidere

And another thing (oh I’m really on a roll now). Hot on the heels of my post concerning the removal of Cheadle’s Christmas lights, here comes news of another recent disappearance. The bench at the top of my road, outside the old police station, has vanished like an old oak table. All that remain are two twisted and rusted stumps of metal jutting out of the tarmac, the remnants of two of the bench legs. That old bench had sat there for as long as I can remember, but now it is no more.

It’s not difficult to realise what has gone on. Just around the corner is an off-licence, and that junction is a popular congregating spot for the local youths. It doesn’t take much to imagine hoodied louts, high off their heads on ThirstyMan Cider, kicking the bench until it can take it no more. Bloody typical.

Ironic though; the only people I can remember using that bench are the local teens of an evening. Flush from getting the tallest lad or an adult passer-by to purchase their fags and booze at the offy, they would often lounge around on the bench and put it to good use. Without the kids it would have been merely an obstruction on the pavement. In bringing about its destruction, the youths have cut off their various noses to spite their collective face.

Which makes me wonder if there may be more too it. Why would the kids smash up what is effectively their own bench? And if they didn’t do it, then who would gain from the its removal? My mind wanders to the Conservative Club opposite, and the old people’s flats that ring the area immediately surrounding where the bench once stood. Could these residents have taken the law into their own hands, sick of seeing teenage thugs thronging the bench and making the place look untidy?

It is surely the more likely scenario, and provides an entirely different image; of cravat-wearing gents and blue-rinsed dames, who, spotting the bench deserted and with no-one looking, bash the fuck out of it while on their way home from the Con Club one evening, belting it until it finally gives and lies twisted on the ground. Unwitnessed and their job done they depart for home; and turning the key in the lock they relax, happy that tomorrow the kids will have had to move on somewhere else.

Isn’t there another bench outside Londis?

Ex-Mas

Well we managed to get away with it for a few months, but inevitably the PC brigade finally caught up with us and banned Christmas[1] once and for all. Because yesterday, in defiance of the Great British Public, my local council realised their heinous error and removed the festive lights and decorations on Cheadle High Street which I had been enjoying for weeks, so cancelling the celebrations and any mention of them.

Here is a picture of the criminals at work, engaged in sabotage. I am sure you can feel the outrage, the sense of violation; but what the photograph can’t capture is the howls and jeers emanating from the crowd of shoppers who berated the elitist intelligentsia in the cherry-picker as they removed the lights (I say the crowd jeered; I can’t be sure since I have been nursing a seasonal cold with resulting near deafness since mid-December[5]; so I may just have heard tinnitus, or voices in my head, or indeed someone with a trolley asking me to stop blocking the pavement and get out of the fucking way. I can’t be certain; but I know what I think).

The bastard, right-on council have even forced The Christmas[2] Shop to shut for heavens sake; and it’s been selling tinselly tat for, oh, weeks now before the diversity fascists managed to move in and close it down, driving it out of business. I don’t know it’s the council who closed it, but why else would it have shut? Do you know the shop I mean? On the High Street, next to Spinks Hampsons Sayers bakers? It used to be The Fireworks Shop, until that too was forced out in November, no doubt on the order of Health & Safety Nazis.

But I know it’s not just me who is suffering as the forces of multiculturalism finally flex their muscles now that the benevolent gaze of the Daily Express has moved onto other things. Take the telly; when was the last time you heard any mention of Christmas[3] there? It’s as if it never existed. What happened to the BBC1 ident of people making a stupid big snowball to fit in with their latest fucking awful “circle” theme? When did you last see that? Exactly; not for days. So another blow is dealt to the idea of England as a Christian country.

And why are they doing all this? Why, to placate some imagined grievance on the part of some Muslims, probably. The thing is I bet most Muslims aren’t bothered in the slightest if we celebrate the birth of Jesus. I’m sure they wouldn’t complain if I bought them all a present, let’s say that! But I don’t know any Muslims.

But that’s that then, all gone with barely a whimper. Now we must prepare for the long wait until we see those first illicit mentions of Christmas[4] in 2007, before they are slammed down again by the liberal cognoscenti; but writing this in January, August seems so very, very far away.

[1] Opps; I mentioned the C-word; not allowed to say that, am I?
[2] Naughty me. I meant wintermission!
[3] Sorry, etc…
[4] Zzzzzzzz
[5] And this is me. The main consequence of my deafness, apart from my shortened temper, is the way I keep waking in the morning under the impression that the month old Quinny has managed to sleep through, only for my bleary and blood-shot eyed wife to inform me that, well, she didn’t. I owe her.

Not A Number

I was quite busy over the weekend, but other than the apparent rugby scrum of government ministers straining to condemn the hanging of Saddam Hussein (and which I feel far too world weary about to comment upon) one news story in particular caught my attention.

It was the discovery that the Prison Service doesn’t know how many inmates have absconded from open prisons. This has prompted condemnation from the media and opposition parties who say it provides further evidence that the Home Office – and Prison Service in particular – is a shambles.

Now, that well may be true, for all sorts of reasons, but my reading of this story is somewhat different. In fact all we have discovered is that the Prison Service doesn’t keep a centrally-based up-to-the-minute record of the number of absconders, and so were unable to provide precise figures to the BBC when they enquired earlier in the week. The details of current absconders are held at the local level and passed onto the police, but not aggregated at a national level because that would serve no practical purpose. However, in response to the furore, resources will be set aside to provide a central database; not to improve the running of the service but in order to accurately field media enquiries.

So what’s the point? If the Prison Service doesn’t feel the need for the data presumably they won’t refer to it and so it will be a waste of everyone’s time. I must admit, I can’t imagine it will be that difficult to find out the total number of current absconders – surely you just contact each local department for their latest figures and do a bit of addition – but if it is that easy why don’t we let the media do it for themselves, if they are really that bothered.

The main upshot of the whole affair is likely to be the creation of another time-consuming project to provide another pointless statistic leading to another distorting centralised government target that will distract the service from the actual job in hand.

Progress.